Team Fortress 2: Mylene Dawnson, MD
by MelvisMD
Summary: Timid but determined Medic in training, Mylene Dawnson, joins the BLU team to support her family. However, her reception makes her wonder if she has bitten off more than she can chew.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

The tiny, cramped vehicle bucked and rocked as it sailed over the rugged, barren desert landscape, tossing up waves of sand like a hot ocean mist. Great red canyons loomed on the horizon, fading into blue as they stretched out of sight into the atmosphere. I had never seen such a vast, flat stretch of land in my life. My time was spent on the other side of the mountains, where the horizon was almost never smooth. Here, I could see for miles and miles, the furthest stretches simply dissolving into the veil that was out of range of the human eye.

The driver's dog tags rattled against his chest as we rolled along, sounding like bells jingling to celebrate the journey. After so long, though, the jubilation I felt was melting along with the rest of me. The sun hissed against my skin mercilessly and I shone with sweat almost everywhere that was exposed. The only relief was the wind blowing through the open car as we drove, but even that was hardly comfortable.

I was trying to remain polite and strong. Complaining before my first day even started would probably not have been a good first impression. However, the driver did catch me pouring water into my palm and rubbing it on my neck.

"Ahh, don't worry, miss. It's not much further now. As soon as we mount this hill, it'll be standing there in the distance," he consoled me.

I nodded. "I'll admit that's a relief."

He smirked and tipped his head up briefly. "Y'excited to get on the job?"

A small, airy chuckle rushed from my nose. "Just as much as I was when I got in the car. More so, even, if it means air conditioning."

"Now, now," he warned me, peering over from under his helmet, "don't get too excited about that. Y'gotta be ready to spend a lot of time outdoors. And the RED base barely has any air conditioning."

"Augh, God. How do they stay alive?"

"By stayin' away from _us_," he grinned at me, "that's how."

I smirked a little, but remained quiet. In all honesty, I wondered how he could treat this war like a game when the reason I was there was to make sure he did not die from a missile through the chest.

I did not even know why we were trained to have a grudge against the RED team. All I really knew was that they were our employers' rivals. Enemies, even. But as a member of the BLU team, it was not my job to ask questions. Part of the reason we were paid so well was because our working conditions were so poor. While we had plenty of food, shelter, and comfort, we had no real personal reasons to fight against the troops in red, and we were only accepted for the job if we signed a contract swearing that we would not press our superiors for information that was not revealed to us.

While we had a fair number of troops, everyone had a different reason for joining the forces of the BLU team. Some desperately needed the money, others were ex-convicts that could not find any other job, even more others were there simply because they liked to fight. They hungered for competition and pitting themselves against others to prove their real strength.

For me, well… Desire was only a small part of why I was there. My love for medical science was, and still is, infinite, but I certainly could have pursued a medical career outside of trench warfare. However, my family has never been a particularly extravagant one, financially. I grew up in a home with many siblings, plus several cousins that we welcomed into the family after the passing of my aunt and uncle. My father made very much money as a Medic serving in the BLU team, but it was only just enough to support such a large group. The money I would make added on to that would help in unimaginable ways.

The head of the BLU team guaranteed me a job if my father would agree to train me for free, and that is exactly what happened. My father was extremely experienced in the battlefield, having been the BLU team's head Medic for over twenty years. I only hoped I could one day be the honored and respected doctor that he made of himself.

The clunky little car finally managed to pull itself up onto the top of a decently sized hill (for such a flat area, anyway). On the horizon stood two enormous buildings a fair distance from each other, one mottled red and standing on rickety wooden planks, while the other was a cold, grey blue, clearly enforced with brick walls and built to last. A vast, yet calm river snaked its way between them, a sheltered bridge stretching across.

"And there they are," the driver said in a final tone, stopping the car for a moment to take on the sight. With the wind off my face, the sun was beyond brutal.

"…That is a rather impressive sight," I remarked quietly and honestly. I kept to myself how intimidating it all seemed, these two mighty fortresses between which violence ran rampant. But I swallowed my fear and replaced it with the determination that I knew I had. This was the place in which I would please my father, support my family, and live my dream… More or less.

The car finally rolled forward again and I watched as the BLU base became more and more real, its highest tower reaching above the other expanses of buildings and the water tower standing resolutely beside it. Barbed wire fences stretched a great distance behind it, surrounding fields of obstacle courses that I knew I would become very familiar with. The west horizon beyond the base lay uneven with small hills and crags, while the background of the RED base was painted with a tall labyrinth of canyons. I frowned as I thought of the inconvenience of this, as we, the Builders League United, would have to pass by RED territory to access any rich mines, and we would no doubt be putting ourselves in great danger by doing so. Even then, while in the mines, the Reliable Excavation Demolition team could easily collapse the tunnels in on us…

I tried not to believe that they would do something so evil. But at the time, I think that the notion of my team's focus being to build and the opposing team's to destroy gave them a subtle villainous feel in my mind.

The driver's radio buzzed with distortion in his hand as he held it up to his face. "Coming in with the new recruit. Get that gate open," he said casually. A voice crackled back to him, barely understandable, though it sounded vaguely like a "Got it". He put the radio back in its holster and the car gave one final rock as it mounted a gravelly path that crawled along to the BLU base's back fields. A great metal frame stood before us shortly, a viciously barbed gate extending across it. We waited for a moment, and then a loud, obnoxious buzzing shot through the air as the gate mechanically and slowly pulled itself open.

We rolled along the path into the fenced in grounds, passing all the dirty, wicked-looking equipment in the obstacle course. This kind of heat coupled with that kind of exertion was sure to be excruciating. I swallowed dryly, knowing the harsh environment would take a lot of getting used to.

Not too long afterwards, we pulled up to the open door of a garage that seemed more like the gaping mouth of a cave. Rolling in on the smooth concrete floor, my face was greeted by a wash of cool air and the sterile, sharp smell of metal. Countless other vehicles, bigger and smaller than the one I was in, were neatly parked in their own specific rows. We pulled into an empty, marked spot and it was finally time to end the ride.

My sandal clapped against the floor as I stepped out, echoing throughout the impossibly spacious garage. I peeled myself off of the seat and stretched gratefully. As huge and new as this all was, it was good to move again.

"Right this way, then," the driver said briefly, gesturing with a flick of the wrist. "I'll bet your father's eagerly waiting for you."

I felt my mouth twitch into an involuntary smile. I tried to not let it be the main reason that I was excited for the job, but I could not help but look forward to seeing my dad. His job allowed such little time for him to come home and be with us. We would get to see him on holidays or for a short vacation in the summer, but sometimes we did not even get that pleasure. On a few occasions, we had gone over a year without actually seeing him.

We did, however, receive letters from him every week. Knowing that he loved us dearly but never really getting to be with him… well, it made him feel more like an imaginary friend than a real father. I was ready for all that to change.

The driver led me up a flight of stairs that overlooked the garage, and from above, it seemed even more overwhelming. I barely had time to take it in, however, before he took me through a door and we walked down a cold, blue hallway lined with windows on one side. I peered in subconsciously as we went, seeing what appeared to be a conference room about half the size of the garage. An enormous world map filled the far wall, tiny lights twinkling in numerous locations.

I was snapped back to reality when he spoke again. "So, what was your name again? I'm not so good with the memory stuff."

"Mylene," I swallowed a bit. "My name is Mylene."

"Mylene Dawnson, eh?" He glanced back at me, a dark brown eye appearing from under his helmet, and I nodded. "Name's Theodore. Call me Ted, though. I'm a Soldier here. I specialize with the rockets." His mouth pulled into a proud smirk on his last sentence. He must have been one of the workers that took the job just because they liked blowing things up.

I raised my eyebrows and nodded, pretending to be impressed, but all I could think of was what kind of injuries I would be tending to from his weapons.

We made our way down another corridor that was open towards the end, letting rays of sunshine spill in across the floor. Before the light touched us, Ted held out his hand in front of me and gave me a humorous grin, stepping out while I waited in the shadows.

"Gentlemen," I heard him say in a mock-official tone, and a few low chuckles rattled after him, "I give you our newest recruit…"

Oh, no. I was already so nervous; I did not need that kind of attention…

"Miss… uhh…"

My voice cracked a bit in my throat, but I corrected it quickly. "Mylene," I called out timidly.

"Yeah! Miss Mylene… Dawnson!" The small applause started before I even showed myself. I swallowed hard and smoothed my nerves. I could not let something this simple scare me.

Setting all my fears aside, I stepped forward steadily, presenting myself to the unforgiving sunlight once again. My eyes stung and my vision failed for a moment as the brightness burned deeply, but when I could see again, all I saw were perplexed faces staring at me.

I felt my eyebrows raise, as I was expecting to be welcomed a little more, but when I got a good look at the group, I started to realize why I was so new. Every single blue-clad figure before me was a man, many quite tall and overpowering. Even if they were on the shorter side, they had a fair deal of muscle and obvious wear and tear on their bodies.

I was basically the opposite of all of them. My height was remarkably small for a 21-year old and I was not sure if I was going to grow any more. My figure was slight and feminine, looking more suited for dancing than combat. My face was unspoiled with scars or bruises. My hair fell in flowing twists that barely grazed my shoulders. I was contrary to everything they were expecting in a new recruit.

However, it became very clear that some of them were far too glad to see a woman again.

"Great Scott, what's a tiny li'l lady doin' in a place like this?"

"Y'sure yer in the right place, sweetheart?"

"Surely you're joking."

"Uh, wow…"

"This does not seem right at all…"

Their distressed mutters were broken by a shrill wolf whistle. I startled and snapped my gaze to one of the smaller men, his eyes shaded over by his visor but still watching me with this wild look about him that made me squirm inside. Some men around him chuckled and clapped him on the back, only sending me deeper into my pit of embarrassment.

Ted watched me concernedly, but he seemed at a loss himself. It was not going as either of us had expected. This was not the way I had hoped my first day would go.

A low curse sounded from across the courtyard, and I felt myself immediately stand straight with excitement. I knew that voice.

"Is she here already?" He called out, sounding completely frazzled. "Augghh God, I didn't want to be late…"

Seconds later, he broke through the crowd, and I finally got to see him. His round, deep blue eyes stared right at me with a kind of alarmed and worried love that I had not seen before, his short and rough hair now a faded salt and pepper. Scars crossed over his face that were not there the last time I saw him, and though it had only been a year, his skin was worn with an even older look than I remembered.

Before I was conscious of myself, I had ran over and thrown my arms around him, the top of my head barely reaching his collarbone. I felt all eyes on us, but I did not care. I was going to hug my father whether or not it made us look overly sentimental. My anxiety about being such an oddity among the others was quickly being burnt out by my blazing excitement to finally be with him again.

He rocked slightly in my embrace. "Oh…" he sighed in a tone that I could not place, and briefly pat me on the shoulder blades. My excitement did not die down. If I was going to embarrass him, then so be it. But he managed to pry my arms off of him to look down at my beaming face.

"I really am so sorry that I'm late," he said softly but quickly, gripping my shoulders firmly to show that he meant it. "I had a patient to tend to." He glanced around at the others, observing their reactions.

"Dawnson," a man with welding goggles on his forehead addressed him, "why on Earth would you…" he trailed off as if he believed the sentence did not need an ending.

My father gave him a sharp, stern look, and the man pressed his lips together in a defeated frown. I had never seen such a fiercely commanding look in his eyes before. There was so much I was going to have to learn about my father's work behavior.

I could not seem to erase the smile from my face, but I asked anyway, "Is something wrong?"

He looked down at me, stricken for a moment, but then calmed again. "No… I just had to tend to a wounded patient…" He looked around again and stepped back from me to clap a hand on my shoulder. His arm felt like a ton of bricks on my tiny body.

"Well… Here she is. This is my daughter, Mylene. I need to speak with her alone now, if you will excuse us." His hand slipped down to mine and he pulled me abnormally quickly down the hallway across the courtyard.

"What…?" Doors and windows rushed past us as we rounded corners and descended steady ramps. It was all so disorienting; not only the sensory overload, but the constant whirling of emotions. I had thought he would be happy to see me, but he just seemed like he was taking care of an irritating chore. I watched the back of his head as we hurried along, wanting more than anything for him to turn around and put his arms around me. Words pushed at the back of my lips, but a sort of reverence encircled me. I just knew that something was on his mind and that neither of us would like it.

Finally, we reached a large set of double doors with huge blue medical crosses painted on each of them. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, turned them in the slot, and pushed the door open just long enough for us to slip in.

"Dad," I finally managed to utter when I stepped foot inside, turning around to look at him, but I was met with a crushing hug.

"I'm sorry I didn't do this earlier," he whispered at the top of my head, planting a meaningful kiss on it. "I really am."

I could not help but feel a sort of exasperation at the constant switching of moods, but I hugged him back just as tightly. I was going to take what affection I could get from this hardened war Medic. "What… What's wrong?"

I felt his head shake. "I'll get around to it. Don't worry… Nobody's died." A small, grim chuckle shook him for a moment. I frowned at the eerie joke.

He let me go to hold me by the shoulders, staring down into my eyes with the fatherly pride that I knew and loved. I sighed and smiled back up at him quietly. "Still such a beautiful girl…" he said slowly, stroking my jaw with his thumb. "Always so beautiful…"

Happiness welled up inside me to finally be in the moment with my father that I wanted. Just heart to heart, the way it should be. I felt my cheeks flush with heat at his praise, but managed to maintain a steady gaze with him. The tears, however, would be harder to fight.

"I…" he looked at me, a serious look of reality creeping back into his face, but he quickly smiled again. "I had better show you around your new work quarters."

I beamed at him, enthusiasm rushing up my throat like a rocket. "Yes!" I pleaded giddily.

He sighed admiringly, but sadness lingered in his eyes. "So excited to start your work in this Hell hole…"

He led me around the wide room, showing me the numerous crowds of machines and tables, strategically placed so as to not get in the way. He opened the cupboards to show me our Science tools, pulled out the drawers to go over the syringes, unlocked a large cabinet to show me the collections of chemical compounds and serums. Everything looked so old, but still shone so brilliantly. Whether that was because my father kept everything squeaky clean or because I was like a kid in a candy store, however, I was not so sure.

He showed me the patient rooms, small and ugly, the walls plastered with organ anatomy posters that I was sure would frighten patients out of their wits. There were ten rooms for the patients in total.

"…Have you ever had your rooms completely full?" I dared to ask out of grave curiosity.

He exhaled through his nose, a mix between a sigh and a laugh. "Almost. There are only so many of us to be injured."

Finally, he showed me my room. It was much more spacious and comfortable than the patients' rooms, but it was still very ugly in its color. Such a sterile, shuddering blue. Its only redeeming qualities were the all-too-welcoming bed, the tall shelves and spacious desk, and the vast set of windows with a windowsill large enough to sit on. Mechanical blinds huddled against the glass, blocking out the sunlight.

"Can I…?" I gestured to the windows timidly, and he broke a rueful smile. He tossed a set of keys to me.

"It's the little brass one," he told me, answering my thoughts. I crossed over to the slot on the wall and stuck the key in with a satisfying crunch, slowly turning it.

The blinds trembled and pulled apart from each other the tiniest bit, sending slits of sunlight reaching into the room. With a high, shrill moan, they lifted carefully up the glass, disappearing into a slot above. The western horizon looked so perfect, baked red by the brilliant sun which was now settling itself lazily between the crags of hills.

"Oh…" I sighed in amazement. The landscape looked so savage earlier, with the sun practically breaking my skin, but from inside, looking out… I believed I could stare forever, lost in my own realm of tranquility.

"Yes," I heard my father say from behind me, "you're lucky. I don't get that kind of view from my room. I get a charming look at the legs of the water tower…"

"…I expect I will be spending much of my free time here…" I said dreamily. "When I'm not occupied with medicine, of course…"

"You consider practicing medicine 'free time'?" He sounded kind of amazed at what a nerd his daughter was.

I laughed at myself softly. "Yes, Dad. I've only been studying it for the past ten years…"

A strange silence fell over us. I did not feel his eyes on me anymore. "…Dad?" I looked back at him, and he was staring out the window, his expression blank and serious. He did not look at me.

"You need to stop calling me that after today."

His words struck me bluntly, though part of me understood. I just did not want to accept that part of my job. I frowned at him tiredly.

"So long as you work here… tonight is my last night as 'Dad'. You will have to call me 'Dawnson' from now on."

"Alright…" I looked out the window again, subconsciously wondering if I was in over my head.

"If I am going to train you…" he said slowly, making his way to my door, "…then I am going to have to make you hate me with every fiber of your being."

I stared at him as he left, knowing there was no way he would manage that. I never did feel the potential for hate inside of me, and it was not about to start for my father.

"Get some rest," I heard him call from down the hallway. "We start bright and early tomorrow, and all the sleep in the world won't prepare you for your first day."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Biting cold tore into me as my blanket was yanked away. My heart kick-started and my head spun, a quick and groggy yelp managing to escape my throat.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," my father's voice rang out sharply. "You've got an hour before we start training, and if you're not ready by then, too bad for you."

I pulled my eyes open as slits, squinting against the darkness. The sun had not even dreamt of peering over the eastern canyons yet. As I wondered what ungodly hour it was, I dizzily pushed myself up into a sitting position and tried to make out the red numbers of the clock through my half-asleep haze. 4 AM. Lovely.

A bundle of foreign fabrics hit my face and fell into my lap. "Put those on. You won't need your full uniform for training just yet, but those can go under it when you do. And these, as well." A clap echoed through the room as he dropped something at my feet. I managed to make out his shadowy figure heading back towards the door just in time to see his hand reaching for the light switch.

However, my 4 AM reflexes did not register.

By the time my eyes had stopped stinging and watering profusely from the onslaught of light and I had put on all the clothes he had given me, I was watching myself in a full-length mirror by my door. I was clad in a long, fitted white tank top tucked into my pants, which were a dark smoky blue and fairly baggy from the hips down. The cuffs of those were hidden in the tops of my boots, a thick but flexible black leather stretching up to just under my knee. My hair still fell in a tousled mess down my neck, but it was not really long enough for me to worry that much about.

I really was so very tiny. I could not help but wonder what effect the training would have on this itty bitty body.

"You'd better hurry up, or you won't have time to eat!"

My father and I stepped through the large swinging doors into the cafeteria, met by the sounds of hissing steam, clanging plates, banging pots and pans, and the rumbling murmurs of the troops that were already in there. Did they all honestly get up this early every day? No… They were not all there. Some must have gotten up early to exercise as well.

Or… watch me train. I sincerely hoped it was the former.

As we picked up our warm, freshly washed trays from the stack and made our way down the line with our plates and glasses, I felt many pairs of eyes on me. A hush fell on those behind me as I passed. I swallowed and told myself to get used to it. I stuck out like a sore thumb here and that was not going to change. Or, rather, I was the only one here who was not a sore thumb…

I smiled briefly at my inner jokes and reached the end of the line with a classic breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. My father watched me carefully.

"More eggs," he told me, lightly pushing my shoulder so I would go back. "You need energy, and lots of it."

My eyes slipped down to my tray momentarily. I thought I had plenty of eggs in the first place, but apparently not. I did as he told and went back for extra helpings.

We ate together quietly, as it was too early for me to form any sort of conversation. The thought occurred to me to ask what kind of training we would be doing, but I supposed I would find out soon enough. And whatever it was, I needed calories to do it, so I could not waste valuable meal time talking.

I did, however, chance a few glances around the room in the midst of chewing. Not surprisingly, almost everyone was watching me, but at least a few had the decency to look away when I noticed. The others stared at me head on, their lips pulling back into wolfish grins and nodding to me slightly. The same small man that wolf whistled at me the previous day clicked his tongue a few times and winked, sending a shudder of disgust and embarrassment up my spine. He looked at me like I was some pretty creature that he wanted to play with… And no doubt, that is what I was to him.

All lewd gazes abruptly disappeared and faced their food again. For a moment, I was pleasantly surprised, but the shock wore off when I caught a glimpse of my father's face. He was giving the same sharp, commanding look that he had given the engineer, except this time, it was even more intimidating.

It was easy to feel scared in such a foreign environment. I never did let fear get the best of me or keep me from accomplishing my goals, but a certain amount was necessary to be safe, and… well, being a tiny, untrained woman amongst a crowd of elite, proficient, yet untamed troops was a concerning thought. But with my father here, I took comfort in the fact that all the men were too scared of him to try anything on me. It has always been in one's best interests not to get on the bad side of their doctor.

Until I could properly fight back on my own, I at least had his protective gaze to keep me safe.

I popped the last corner of toast in my mouth and downed the last few drops of my orange juice, and not a second after, my father stood up. "Let's get moving. You wouldn't want to miss the sunrise."

He led me briskly down the hallways, under the humming fluorescent lights, only adding on to my tiredness with their dull, gray tones. I shook my head free of the drowse, trying to get it through my head that I really, sincerely needed to be awake for this. But my night had been a rough one; I do not know if my lack of sleep was due to excitement or anxiety, but at this point, it did not really matter. Both reasons were bad if it led to me falling asleep during training.

Of course, I would find out quite quickly that there was more than one way to lose consciousness during an early morning training session.

After stopping briefly by our office for my father to don the rest of his uniform, complete with light blue trench coat, deep blue rubber gloves, and black suspenders attached to a heavy duty belt, we stepped out into the training grounds, met by a thin but vast veil of darkness, the equipment only black shapes against the hazy blue morning sky. The chilled air nipped at my skin lightly, the frigid desert night just beginning to give way to the garish sun.

"First things first," my father said, opening a small door in the wall and flipping some switches, turning on a great set of lights that hung over the field, "you need to stretch. Get on that."

I was a little too disoriented by the forest of obstacles to really hear what he had said. There were so many more than I remembered seeing on the drive in. Tires, ramps, walls, ropes, hurdles, ladders, monkey bars, all encircled by an enormous running track. I blinked and swallowed, forcing myself back into reality. I knew that I was going to have to face these challenges when I took on the job. It was just stage fright. It was nothing that could not be conquered.

"Miss Dawnson," my father said sharply, "if you do not stretch now, I'll make you begin without limber muscles, and you'll pull every tendon in your body. Now, stretch."

"Right. Sorry D-" – I caught myself – "-Sorry, sir." I did as I was told.

We began with a jog around the track to warm up. He trotted next to me as if it was nothing, but let me off on my own when he told me to sprint once around the track. We repeated the jogging and sprinting process five times until I felt like my legs were about to burst. I panted wetly at the start of the track, and my father tossed me a water bottle. I guzzled it down gratefully, but he snatched it from me halfway through and splashed a little in my face.

"Not so fast, you'll make yourself vomit! And that is not pleasant to clean up; I should know."

He ushered me forward to begin the erratic rollercoaster ride of the obstacle course. I hopped my way through trails of tires, successfully knocked over almost every hurdle (falling onto all fours each time, of course), and swung with my already scraped and bruised hands from jungles of monkey bars. Darting over a teetering ramp, I threw myself at the 10-foot brick wall, scratched and clambered my way up by some miracle, and landed on the other side with a resounding thump. A shudder rippled through my bones on impact, pushing the breath right out of my lungs and knocking me down to crash on my right shoulder.

"Roll, Mylene! Never just land with both feet!"

I thrust myself forward again onto my stomach to crawl through a low net of wires and wicked-looking barbs, and flung myself back up again once I was out to latch onto a huge rope tethered to an even bigger pole. My feet flailed and slipped beneath me, but by some feat of strength, determination, or will of God, I reached the top to ring a victorious bell.

"Good! Now come on down."

So overcome by my triumph, I did not think, and simply loosened my grip enough to slide down. My hands nearly caught fire and I let go, landing with a stumble and a thud on my behind. My eyes watered as I clenched my hands to my chest, willing the pain to just leave me be.

"Alright," he crossed over to me and began pouring water on my head. I looked up and swallowed as much of it as I could. "Now get on up and do it again."

My eyes flew open and I gawked at him. I wanted to scream, but my lungs only allowed a groggy sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

I observed myself in the mirror once again, reading my body like a book, every scrape and scuff telling a story. My hands were red and caked with dirt from twisting and tearing on the monkey bars or breaking my falls. My lip was bruised and bleeding from when I stumbled down the ramp and knocked my face on the brick wall. The insides of my arms stung bitterly from crawling under the sheets of barbed wire, a few pricks and wounds in my back from when I did not crawl low enough. My shoulders and elbows were skinned from tumbling over the hurdles. A great, open wound stood out on the corner of my forehead from when I tried to roll after jumping off the wall, but did not tuck my head in soon enough. I experienced first-hand just how much forehead cuts bleed, shown quite prominently by bright red stains on the front of my shirt.

And, as the icing on the cake, the sun nearly burnt me to a crisp. The first day of training hit me harder than a freight train, and it was not even over.

My father appeared next to me after some time. I did not stop staring at the broken creature before me. I did, however, notice him looking me over.

"You had better change into a clean uniform," he swiped at my shoulder a bit, brushing off the dirt and dust. It settled in my cuts and stung like mad, but after being in pain for so long that day, I did not really care anymore.

"And you need to take a shower."

That was when I started caring about pain again.

I looked at him quickly in alarm. "With all this over me?" I gestured to my torn up skin. "That - That's just too brutal!"

"Miss Dawnson," he said calmly but slight displeasure showing in his eyes, "you have not even experienced the brunt of war yet and you are speaking of brutality."

I bit my lip, causing the pain in it to flare up again. I knew he was right, but after hours of pushing myself harder and harder, I was reaching what felt like a limit. I never set boundaries for myself on what I was capable of, but it seemed like my body was doing it for me.

"I won't do it," I murmured defensively. "I just can't."

"You are too dirty to be handling equipment in the main office, your cuts will get infected if you don't wash them, and quite frankly, you reek of sweat. Take a shower and meet me in the office in ten minutes." He turned to leave, and a small panic piped up inside me at him leaving me alone with such a painful task to face.

"I can't…" The words shuddered out of my mouth involuntarily. He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly, a stern glare settled into his eyes.

"You can and you will," he said firmly, "lest I make you."

I held my arms in close to me and trembled with exhaustion. I did not know if it was my overworked body, my father acting so cold, or my constant failures on the obstacle course, but something made me feel reduced to a cowering child. My resolve was so broken down, beaten, pushed and pulled in all directions. After fighting my fear and pushing myself even though I knew I would fail for hours, that simple thought of hot water pouring over my tattered body sent me over the edge. I no longer wanted to listen to reason or negotiate. I just wanted the pain and the strain to end.

"I won't do it…" I croaked, staring at the floor, defeated. Even as I spoke, I could not believe my words, how weak I was being.

Without a word, my father strode over and gripped my arm, stinging my burns and cuts, and pulled me harshly across the floor to the bathroom. My breath quickened in a disoriented panic and my boots skidded and squeaked against the tile as I feebly resisted. Even if I was not completely exhausted, I would have been no match for my father's strength. He hauled me into the bathroom, and upon seeing the shower waiting for me, I lost all control of myself. It did not matter so much anymore that I was about to be in extreme pain, but my mind seemed to break under the force of the whole day, trampled to dust by the constant orders and pushed limits. For that moment, I did not just want to avoid the blazing pain of the shower. I wanted to flee the base and go home.

"Please," I pleaded urgently, "please, don- Don't do this to me, Dad, please don't, I don't want to do it, please!"

He did not reply. He only pulled back the curtain to reveal my watery cell.

"Please!"

Hands tight around my biceps, he hoisted me up and placed me in, fully clothed, and with a vicious scream, the water came crashing down.

Almost all of me wishes fervently that I could forget that time I spent keeled over in pain, sobbing as my father cleaned my wounds and washed the dirt caked into my skin and clothes. Every drop felt like a razor on my burnt body. Each of my father's touches felt like snake bites. All of my cuts flared up with more pain than when I had received them.

But for all the torture that it was, forgetting it would have left me in a worse state than I was in.

Once he had done all he felt he needed to, my father pushed up to stand and left without a word, not bothering to turn off the water. I had been avoiding his gaze for the whole process, completely surrendering to him and pathetically begging for mercy, but when he turned the corner to leave, I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were red with tears of his own.

My breathing settled and I stopped crying. I did not feel anything under my skin for quite some time. I removed my soaked clothes and turned the dial on the shower to cold, hugging my knees to my chest and letting the cool water soothe my seething burn.

For the rest of the day, I was emotionally numb. I donned my full uniform, the coat just a bit too big and the suspenders needing major tightening. The gloves were a vibrant, shining blue that I liked a fair bit, but at that time, I really did not care. It all looked grey to me.

My father began to show me the specific chemicals that we had to work with and taught me how to make the basic serum that was put in our battle syringes. It was a fairly potent poison, strong enough to incapacitate an enemy for several days and leave them vomiting in agony. It was fatal if enough was administered. He explained to me that making a strict killing serum was far too expensive and far too dangerous. If we accidentally shot a teammate, they would be done for, and the company would not allow such a waste of troops.

Even in my cold, unfeeling state, I was amazed at how little our administrators sincerely cared about the lives of their workers. Any attempt to keep us alive seemed to be for more financial profit.

He began to go over basic safety of the lab and its equipment, showing me what to do if I got chemicals in my eyes or corrosive matter on my skin. I knew everything he was telling me. To be honest, I learned it in eighth grade Science class. But I nodded quietly as he went on.

I concocted all the poisons and medicines that he instructed without error and without question. I knew that I would not have to worry about too much failure in that field, and I was fairly certain my father knew that as well. Still, I caught impressed glances in his eyes as he watched me closely, scrawling on a clipboard. He made remarks about my precision, my efficiency, my steady hands, and my innovation when he asked me to improvise. Although it was an intricate Science, it felt like an art to me, like a dance that I just fell into step with. It was my passion that I executed as easily as I breathed.

As I cleaned the tubes, vials, and dishes, he scrutinized me quietly. He was clearly deep in thought and words were hanging off the tip of his tongue, but I did not engage anything. Whatever he had to say on a personal level, I wanted to hear it when I was out of the emotionally comatose state that I found myself in.

Next, he introduced me to the machine that filled our battle syringes, as filling them manually would take hours upon hours. We placed the jar of our serum into a large slot in the side, securing clips around it to lock it in place. My father took a huge bag of syringes and emptied it into the top of the machine, which consumed each one in an orderly and efficient fashion. The process was surprisingly quiet for such an old-looking machine. This, of course, allowed an awkward silence to make itself known between my father and I.

I pretended not to notice him staring at me, at the gruesome injury above my temple. I instead watched the light reflect off my gloves, trying not to think about the torn up flesh underneath and how painful it would make daily tasks.

After about ten minutes, the machine had dropped several rings of our potent ammo into a chute on one side. This prompted my father to show me the basic anatomy of the Syringe Gun, how to open the barrel and place the ring of needles inside, how to pop out an empty ring to reload, and how to adjust the firing speed and frequency. It all seemed so foreign to me. I never had to deal with weapons before, much less…medical weapons.

"And that would be my segue into your next block of training," he said, popping the ammo out of the gun. "Target practice."

He led me down the halls as if we were going back into the gargantuan garage, but took a turn that I was not familiar with. We made our way down a fairly narrow corridor and pushed through a thick, sound-proofing door, met with echoes of our arrival bouncing off the distant walls.

I could barely believe my eyes. The target practice room was just about as big as the garage, but it was practically empty, giving an even deeper feeling of space. We stood at the top of a flight of sturdy stairs, overlooking the vast, stone floor riddled with twisting slots. Armies of human cut-outs stood against the walls, their feet attached to little remote-controlled mechanisms.

There was a small, worn steel fort a little ways from the bottom of the stairs… That must have been where I would shoot from. Behind it was a room with thick glass windows, many switches, lights, and levers shining from desks of equipment.

I was broken from my reverie of awe by a Syringe Gun being thrust into my arms.

"It's loaded with nails," he told me, handing me a couple ammo rings of long, thin metal spikes. "When you run out of ammo, signal me, and we'll collect them up from the floor."

"Or the targets," I added, not to be arrogant, but to be factual.

"Yes," he said, avoiding my gaze and turning to go into the control room. "I suppose."

I settled into the steel fort and ran my fingers over the Syringe Gun, mentally going over all the triggers and switches. I remembered them with no difficulty, but I knew putting them to use would be a different story. If only my eye for precision in Science could pass on to the use of ranged weapons, I thought to myself grimly.

The training began with the wail of an obnoxious buzzer. Figures began to pop out of the floor like an arcade game. I watched them nonchalantly for a minute. With my enthusiasm running on empty, it was all I could do to hang on to reality and not just sit there wishing I was somewhere else.

My father sounded the buzzer again to wake me up, and I forced myself into action. I squeezed the trigger and the nails began to rocket from the end of the gun smoothly and rapidly, embedding themselves into the shoulders of the targets or spiralling into empty air, clattering against the floor a fair distance away. I lowered the firing rate with a flick of my finger and carried on taking down the targets as I saw them. The minutes blurred past as I tried my best to concentrate.

The buzzer rang out again, and I held my fire. The door to the control room squealed as my father stepped out, not appearing disappointed or impressed, but analytical.

"Go on, then," he said, gesturing as if I should know what to do. "Gather up the nails from the floor while I check your accuracy on the targets."

I did as I was told without a word. My boots clopped against the floor as I jogged around gathering up every nail I could spot. It was not the easiest job, as they were almost the same shade of grey as the floor. I supposed this was all part of the routine… training me to have keen eyes.

My father's footfalls echoed slowly around the cavernous room some distance behind me. He crossed between targets, observing them and pulling the nails out. He said nothing, though there was a strange twinge in his eye, as if he could not decide how he should feel. For each target, he paused a little longer, looking it over carefully with a silent sigh. I swallowed, just hoping I did not disappoint him further after my failures on the obstacle course this morning.

After I retrieved as many nails as I could find, I trotted over to him. He stared at the target for another moment, and then glanced down at me.

"…How did I do?" I involuntarily asked.

"Go take a look," he said numbly, nodding his head back to the rest of the wooden figures.

I looked back at them warily. Their backs were to me, all standing erect and solemn, tricking my eyes into believing my father and I were not alone. I knew they were only wood, and I knew it was my first day, and that I could not be expected to do perfectly… But at the time, it did not matter to me. Feeling beneath my skin had not returned; I was still trapped in my numb feeling of failure. It only worsened as I anticipated discovering just how awful my aim was, how much harder I would have to work.

What I found, however, struck me dumb.

Nails had been embedded deep into the targets' heads, necks, and hearts. Any figure that was hit was hit in a vital region. Kill shot after kill shot after kill shot.

I stood in awe of myself, though not quite pride. More than anything, I felt overcome with disbelief. I had never handled a weapon before. I never really had a use for aim, either, prior to coming to the base. The ability seemed to be-

"Your skill with a gun is inborn," my father said to me as he approached, his hands behind his back and his eyes still unreadable. "Your grandfather was the same way. The first day he picked up a gun, he was shooting with proficiency beyond his years." A small, sarcastic smile played into his face. "That ability seemed to skip my generation."

A spark of hope stirred up inside me at the sight of his smile, and it ignited even further when he put his hand on my shoulder in a congratulatory way. I felt myself smile up at him, and he looked down at me with what appeared to be silent admiration.

However, as quickly as it had come, his smile was gone, and he strode back to the control room. "Let's do another round. Reload and get yourself ready."

I nodded briefly, popping open the barrel of the Syringe Gun and clicking another ring of ammo in place. I crouched behind the cover again, feeling the weight of the weapon in my hands. It felt so much more familiar now, like it was just an extension of my arms. I went over the controls in my head, amazed at how there was little to nothing I did not remember about handling the gun.

At that moment, I felt myself become a little less powerless to defend myself. I felt like, just maybe, I might have a shot at surviving in this war.

The shrill buzzer jolted me out of my trance as the targets began to move about the field once again. I shut out unnecessary thought and let my instinct take control, firing at whatever I saw. I began to feel a flow in my actions like I did when practicing Science. There was a rhythm to my movements that I kept in time with easily.

As the targets fell one by one, I felt a warm swell inside, pushing out the cold feelings of failure from earlier. Very slowly, I began to taste the slightest hint of real confidence in myself.

A chill shot up my spine as a loud crack sounded from behind me. I spun around and my hands squeezed the trigger, rocketing out a single nail before I paused to realize what had happened.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a slot behind the cover for a target to rise out of. The figure had its arm raised and ready to strike with a knife, a red mask painted across the face. And between the lifeless eyes staring down at me, that single nail had torn right through the wood.

Silence fell over the enormous room as the dust from the target's wound floated gently down. I had pushed myself back against the cold walls of the fort, my heart nearly tearing through my ribcage. Being startled by the target behind me had torn me out of that rhythm I had found… and poured a great splash of reality over me again. In the battlefield, I would almost never have a sure, safe spot to shoot from. There would be no time to be proud of my keen eyes. The second I would get too confident, a knife would be embedded in the back of my lung.

My heart ceased its infernal pounding and sank into my stomach. Visions of a real man with a syringe shot between his eyes flashed across my mind. As I peered back into the shooting range, all the targets became flesh and blood in my head, their wounds real and painful, life slowly fading from their eyes. And every emotional instinct inside of me was screaming for me to run out and save them, to tend to their wounds, to make sure they were not lost.

I was a doctor, not a soldier. It was my goal to heal, not hurt. And yet… I was so deadly. All at once, the Syringe Gun felt dirty in my hands. I slid down into a sitting position, setting the gun in my lap and staring down at it. Would I really be killing people with this…?

My muscles hung loosely on my bones. I felt heavier than I had in years. Responsibility weighed down on me, the necessity to control this incredible power I had discovered in myself. I did not want this frightening ability to take anyone's life; not even my enemy's. I did not know if I could live with the thought of killing a human being in cold blood.

And I had no intention of finding out.

The creaking and squealing of the moving targets behind me eventually came to a premature stop. Footfalls echoed through the cavernous room as my father exited the control chamber, though I did not look at him at first. I merely stood, brushed the dust off my uniform absent-mindedly, and wandered into the target range to pick up any stray ammo. I found very few on the floor and far too many in the targets' vitals.

My father said nothing, though I knew he was watching me. He must have known how afraid I was, but I did not think he knew for what specific reasons. I feared what I could become, what I would have to do… The battleground was an unflinching land of rules and commands in my mind, with the first and foremost regulation being: "Destroy or be destroyed". That concept burned into my brain and tugged angrily at my heart. This was no place for me. I never should have come here. I never should have left home.

After gathering all the nails, I trudged back to my father, finally looking up at him. I did not know what was in my eyes, nor could I tell what was in his. A familiar numbness resided between us, one we must have both known so well purely from being such similar souls.

"That's enough for today," he said softly, a glimmer of the father I knew shining in his words. "You've done very well. We just have one more thing to do before dinner. After that, it's free time."

I looked up at him hesitantly but questioningly. I was not sure what more I could handle.

My bandaged hands stung as if my skin was being slowly torn apart. And it probably was, considering how much I was straining to push the enormous training weight up and away from my body. The bumpy gripping surface of the bar did not help the pain at all. Nor did it help me actually lift the wretched thing.

"Weight training", he had said. So simply, as if it was downhill from that statement on. I had never done weight training in my life. Push-ups, sit-ups, all manners of stretching, but nothing involving equipment… or a room full of large men watching me struggle.

The others sat at their machines or curled their dumbbells as if it were nothing at all. Their sweat betrayed them, but there was hardly any strain in their eyes… That is, from the small amount of time I looked into their eyes. I tried to avoid their gazes altogether, to convince myself that no one was watching. I wanted to remove my mind from my body and convince myself that the pain was not there either. So much I wished for, but knew I could not have.

My father had left me to fend for myself in the weight room while he tended to a teammate with what appeared to be pink eye. I was quite relieved he did not make me accompany him. The last thing I needed was my eyes crusting shut in the morning. Waking up was hard enough. And so was the obstacle course. And coming to terms with that gun. And having everyone watch me like I look delicious. And lifting these stupid weights. And being apart from my family. And…

The thoughts circled on as tears began to well up in the corners of my eyes. I pushed the weight up again with a small hissing breath, using all of my strength to keep it from barrelling back down into my torso. The lifting became increasingly difficult as my breathing wavered with my crying, but I hid it as best as I could. They would not see me cry. I could not just be a little weak girl to them. I could do this. I was going to be one of the best Medics the BLU team had ever seen. I was going to prove them all wrong.

The weight dropped as my arms gave out, nearly crashing right down into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me with a small, strangled yelp. I pushed it down my body and rolled it off my knees to set it on the bench in front of me. The sound of the other machines and bars clanging was laced with small streams of bitter laughter.

…What on Earth was I doing here?

I buried my head in one of my hands, the other massaging my sore abdomen. I was just about to get up and slink away into the hall when a familiar voice caught me off guard.

"Oh, Miss Dawnson, I wondered if I'd catch you on your first day! It's always a busy one." It was Ted, though it was hard to recognize him at first without the bobbling helmet. His hair was buzzed and a ruddy auburn, with a great burn mark running up his left temple. During the split second I took to take in his appearance, his friendly smile drooped into a concerned frown at my weary face.

"Wh-…" He was caught off guard by my tears. Perfect. I stood quietly and slipped out of the room without a sound, leaving the nerve-wracking stares and chuckles behind me. I needed to go back to my room. I needed to think.

"Miss Dawnson!" He called after me, and his footsteps quickly fell behind me. I did not really want to talk, but Ted was one of the only friendly faces that I could see in the BLU base. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked over my shoulder at him. He did not seem any closer to words than he was a moment ago.

I swallowed. "Yes?"

"Well- I-…" He gestured to me. "What's gotten you all… uh…"

I paused, waiting with as much patience I could muster. After a moment, I sighed and leaned my shoulder against the wall, staring down the hall at nothing and trying to blink the hot tears from my eyes. I shook my head, defeated.

"I don't know why I ever thought I could do this…" I put my fingers to my brow. "I'm not a military girl… I'm not a soldier, I'm a healer… I have to do so much here that I… I'm prepared to do a lot, but…" I swallowed again, letting out a small sigh and letting my thoughts unravel themselves. Ted watched me uneasily, his hands on his waist and his eyes fixated on me.

I could not say any more. Explaining the situation would not do any good. He could not talk me into being a hardened, killer soldier. Nothing could turn me into that.

Much to my surprise, he spoke. "…Agh…Miss Dawnson… The first day anywhere is hard… It gets.. Well.."

"It doesn't get easier, does it?" I said plainly.

"…I want to say that you'll get used to it. But I don't want such a nice girl to be used to a place like this. That is, now that I'm seein' what it does to you. I thought before, that maybe—"

I bit my lip and gave him a pleading look. I did not want to hear any expectations he previously had of me that I had failed to fulfill.

He closed his lips into a conflicted frown. I felt legitimately sorry for him, as I knew he wanted to help so badly. For a beaten and battered soldier, there was something sweet in his eyes. I could already tell that he was getting attached to me. And, being one of the only people I could talk to, he was starting to grow on me too.

He stepped closer cautiously, placing an uncertain hand on my shoulder. I exhaled and leaned into him. I would take what comfort I could get.

"This aint an easy place to be…" he said slowly, peering down at me. "'Specially for newcomers… I've seen new recruits come and go, but the way they leave is never… well…" He frowned deeper, growing frustrated with himself. The poor thing. He was trying so hard. "What I'm tryin' to say is, I've never seen a new recruit like you. Never such a tiny, kind-hearted woman."

Just further reasons for me to not be here. A fish a thousand miles from water.

He continued, "But… you're amazin'."

I glanced up at him. "…Why?"

"Well… because you're here. I've never seen anyone like you come within sight of this place. Not a recruit, anyway. You're a tiny lady, but you're the strongest tiny lady I've ever seen. I knew that even on the ride here. You were excited, and you were scared, really scared… But you came anyway. I've never seen a lady just push her fear aside quite like you did."

His words were hitting me like a ton of bricks. And yet, instead of bringing me down, they were lifting me up. Slowly, but surely. I could not believe I had lost sight of one of my highest standards for myself… To disregard fear.

I supposed I had just never faced fear quite like I had at the BLU base.

I needed time to think.

My gaze lifted up to Ted's face, concern still laying heavily in his eyes. I smiled gratefully, blinking the tears away. His eyebrows lifted with optimism at my smile, though his worry did not fade.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "You've given me a lot to think about. Positive things."

He smiled with relief. "I'm always here if you need me. Alright?"

I nodded briefly, then reached up to quickly kiss his jaw. I would have kissed his cheek, but I was too short, as usual. His eyes lit up in a certain way that warmed my heart right up.

"I need to go. Like I said, I have a lot to think about." I started down the hallway towards the Medic quarters.

"Oh, and… Miss Dawnson?" He called after me, and I paused with a glance over my shoulder. "Don't judge the other fellas too hard… they're not all that bad. They're just… they're goofs."

I stifled a small laugh. "Alright." And I continued on my way.

I pushed open the doors to the Medic's office, finding my father speaking to a patient with one very bloodshot eye. He straightened up and looked back at me, subtle alarm in his face as he saw my teary eyes. Besides, I was supposed to wait for him in the weight training room. He must have thought something was seriously wrong.

"I'm done for today, Mr. Dawnson," I told him simply and honestly, turning to head into my room before he could object.

Once I was finally in my quarters, the one place in the base that I could somewhat call mine, I raised the blinds and settled my tired, sore body down on the ledge next to the window. The sun was still high in the clear, blue sky, and the sunlight pouring in stung my burnt shoulders and cheeks, but I did not really mind. Slowly and gratefully, I slipped into thought.

I had dealt with fear before. Protecting my siblings from bullies at school, going out to find our dog that had run away in the middle of the night, listening to my parents argue over the phone, worrying what might happen if my dad did not come home… I had far too many fears as a little girl, but growing up with my little brothers and sisters, I had to be the brave one. I had to be the leader.

I really had no choice but to accept that responsibility, though I never really thought I was ready for it. How could someone so skittish, nervous, and fearful as me be the courageous leader…?

I broke down one night in my mom's room. The responsibility was more than I could handle, but I could not escape it. What she told me stayed with me for the rest of my life.

"Myles…" she had stroked my hair softly, looking me in the eyes, "being courageous isn't having no fear. Your father is the bravest man I know, and he's always scared when he needs to go back to work."

"He is…?" I asked through my tears, and she nodded.

"Don't tell him I told you, though," she smiled a bit. "Being courageous is laughing in the face of fear. To not let it hold you back. He's scared, but he goes back anyways, because his desire to keep his family safe and fed outweighs his fear."

I had looked at my hands, not sure if I liked what I was hearing. I did not really know if I could be as brave as my father. How could I possibly ignore all the fears I had?

"When you're scared," she said, "you need to ask yourself, 'Is my fear more important than my goal?'"

And I had been asking myself that question for years afterward. In all the chaos of my first day, and with my exhaustion, it never entered my mind… I was ashamed of myself, not for failing, but for forgetting who I was: The daughter of the bravest man in the world.

I asked myself that old question again, and the answer was as plain as the sunlight in my eyes. Supporting my family was more important than my fear.

Tomorrow would be a new day. And it would be my real day one. My first day facing the BLU base with the outlook that I was meant to have. Learn from my mistakes, move on, get better. I smiled to myself, filling with excitement to really show them what I was made of.

…And then I realized that I had left my uniform's coat and gloves in the weight training room. I sighed with a smile. Yet another mistake to learn from.


End file.
